just a grumpy old man.”
“Maybe they’ll let him go, too much trouble.”
I laughed. “I’d leave the door unlocked and hope he’d escape in the middle of the night.”
“Confonnit,” Billy said.
That cracked me up. It was Grampa’s favorite word when he couldn’t think of anything else to say. It felt good to laugh.
“Look,” Billy said, pointing with his chin.
The park wasn’t much like it used to be with its wide grassy field to play in, because now it was scarred with trenches deep enough to jump into if the Japanese bombed us again. In the fading light, Billy and I watched three small blond-haired kids racing around in those trenches. You could only see their hair zipping around.
“They got no problems,” I said.
“Except, like us, they better get home quick.”
A police car pulled up and cruised slowly beside us. Two police looking over. “You boys headed home?”
“Yessir,” Billy said.
We kept walking. They kept driving.
The police looked past Billy at me. “Where’s your gas mask?”
“Uh … home,” I said.
They stopped so we did, too.
“Your IDs, both of you,” one guy said without getting out of the car.
We dug them out of our pockets. Everyone had one now, and you had to carry it everywhere you went. Your gas mask, too, but they were heavy and ugly and we never took them with us.
The guy checked our IDs, then handed them back. “You boys start carrying your gas masks. You never know when you might need them.”
“Yessir,” we said at the same time.
The car moved on.
We hurried home in silence, daylight down to a flicker. Soon the light would die … and the roaches and block wardens would come out.
A dirt path cut through the bushes from the street up to the small green house I lived in with Mama and Kimi. Billy’s house was beyond the trees to the left, the Wilsons’ above and to the right. Both were hidden from view by a jungle of bushes and tall trees that roared in the wind like the surf.
It was dark now, everything murky. Shadows and shapes. I held out my hand to stop Billy.
“What?” he said, crouching.
“That dumb goat. You see it?”
Billy squinted into the darkness. “No.”
We started ahead slowly, eyes on the black spots in the bushes.
A month back Mr. Wilson had bought a pygmy goat and brought it over to our house with a face that meant business.“Tie this goat up on a long rope,” he said. “Let it eat down all these weeds. This place looks like a junkyard.”
That was because I couldn’t do everything that needed to be done to hold back the jungle. The weeds and vines grew too fast, closing in to swallow our house. The lawn that grew in sad patches in the dirt we called a yard was as tough to cut as old rope. Grampa Joji used to keep it all from swallowing us with a machete and a rusty push mower we had stored under the house. But he had all day to do that. I didn’t.
Billy crept behind me. “Maybe it’s out back,” he whispered.
“He’s a bag of tricks. Yo u can’t trust that thing.”
I’d named the goat Little Bruiser, because my legs were covered with bruises from his attacks. He must have been owned by someone with boys he didn’t like, because he never went after Mama or Kimi. Just me and my friends.
The place was still. A relief.
“Tomorrow,” Billy said, hurrying over to the trees and the trail to his house.
“Don’t forget your gas mask,” I whispered.
“ Too late. I already forgot it.”
“Pfff,” I scoffed. For the first few months after Pearl Harbor we carried those bug-face masks everywhere. But then we stopped, like most people did. The cops had to be tired of talking to people about them.
My lazy half-beagle mutt, Lucky, came stretching out from the cool space under the house. One of her pups peeked out from behind her, a smudge in the night—Kimi’s puppy, Azuki Bean. And behind Azuki Bean were the two pups Istill had to find homes for. It wasn’t getting any easier because they were over a
“Maybe they’ll let him go, too much trouble.”
I laughed. “I’d leave the door unlocked and hope he’d escape in the middle of the night.”
“Confonnit,” Billy said.
That cracked me up. It was Grampa’s favorite word when he couldn’t think of anything else to say. It felt good to laugh.
“Look,” Billy said, pointing with his chin.
The park wasn’t much like it used to be with its wide grassy field to play in, because now it was scarred with trenches deep enough to jump into if the Japanese bombed us again. In the fading light, Billy and I watched three small blond-haired kids racing around in those trenches. You could only see their hair zipping around.
“They got no problems,” I said.
“Except, like us, they better get home quick.”
A police car pulled up and cruised slowly beside us. Two police looking over. “You boys headed home?”
“Yessir,” Billy said.
We kept walking. They kept driving.
The police looked past Billy at me. “Where’s your gas mask?”
“Uh … home,” I said.
They stopped so we did, too.
“Your IDs, both of you,” one guy said without getting out of the car.
We dug them out of our pockets. Everyone had one now, and you had to carry it everywhere you went. Your gas mask, too, but they were heavy and ugly and we never took them with us.
The guy checked our IDs, then handed them back. “You boys start carrying your gas masks. You never know when you might need them.”
“Yessir,” we said at the same time.
The car moved on.
We hurried home in silence, daylight down to a flicker. Soon the light would die … and the roaches and block wardens would come out.
A dirt path cut through the bushes from the street up to the small green house I lived in with Mama and Kimi. Billy’s house was beyond the trees to the left, the Wilsons’ above and to the right. Both were hidden from view by a jungle of bushes and tall trees that roared in the wind like the surf.
It was dark now, everything murky. Shadows and shapes. I held out my hand to stop Billy.
“What?” he said, crouching.
“That dumb goat. You see it?”
Billy squinted into the darkness. “No.”
We started ahead slowly, eyes on the black spots in the bushes.
A month back Mr. Wilson had bought a pygmy goat and brought it over to our house with a face that meant business.“Tie this goat up on a long rope,” he said. “Let it eat down all these weeds. This place looks like a junkyard.”
That was because I couldn’t do everything that needed to be done to hold back the jungle. The weeds and vines grew too fast, closing in to swallow our house. The lawn that grew in sad patches in the dirt we called a yard was as tough to cut as old rope. Grampa Joji used to keep it all from swallowing us with a machete and a rusty push mower we had stored under the house. But he had all day to do that. I didn’t.
Billy crept behind me. “Maybe it’s out back,” he whispered.
“He’s a bag of tricks. Yo u can’t trust that thing.”
I’d named the goat Little Bruiser, because my legs were covered with bruises from his attacks. He must have been owned by someone with boys he didn’t like, because he never went after Mama or Kimi. Just me and my friends.
The place was still. A relief.
“Tomorrow,” Billy said, hurrying over to the trees and the trail to his house.
“Don’t forget your gas mask,” I whispered.
“ Too late. I already forgot it.”
“Pfff,” I scoffed. For the first few months after Pearl Harbor we carried those bug-face masks everywhere. But then we stopped, like most people did. The cops had to be tired of talking to people about them.
My lazy half-beagle mutt, Lucky, came stretching out from the cool space under the house. One of her pups peeked out from behind her, a smudge in the night—Kimi’s puppy, Azuki Bean. And behind Azuki Bean were the two pups Istill had to find homes for. It wasn’t getting any easier because they were over a
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